shake off the consciousness that he had broken his word. That was
something which, heretofore, he had never done. But, heretofore,
his promises had been of a strictly business nature. He would
deliver so many bushels of wheat at such and such a time; he
would lend such and such a piece of machinery; he would supply so
many men and so many teams at a neighbor's threshing; he would
pay so much per pound for hogs; he would guarantee so many eggs
out of a setting or so many pounds of butter in so many months
from a cow he was selling. A few such guarantees made good at a
loss to himself, a few such loads delivered in adverse weather, a
few such pledges of help kept when he was obliged actually to
hire men, had established for him an enviable reputation, which
Martin was of no mind to lose. Had Rose not released him from his
promise he would have kept it. Even now he was disturbed as to
what Fletcher and Fallon might think. But already he had lived
long enough with his wife to understand something of the quality
of her pride. Once having agreed to the change, she would carry
it off with a dash.

Had Rose stood her ground on this matter, undoubtedly all her
after life might have been different, but she was of those women
whose charm and whose folly lie in their sensitiveness to the
moods and contentment of the people most closely associated with
them. They can rise above their own discomfort or depression, but
they are utterly unable to disregard that of those near them.
This gave Martin, who by temperament and habit considered only
his own feelings, an incalculable advantage. His was the old
supremacy of the selfish over the self sacrificing, the hard over
the tender, the mental over the emotional. Add to this, the fact
that with all his faults, perhaps largely because of them,